Antebellum
by gallifreyedjeans
Summary: Growing up in the countryside of Idris, spirited young Jocelyn Fairchild has everything. But as she approaches her sixteenth birthday and meets a mysterious Shadowhunter named Valentine, the ideas and beliefs she's cultivated over the years slowly begin to shift. Suddenly, she finds herself in danger of losing it all. (Pre-Uprising, will follow canon of TMI.)
1. Chapter 1

**Part I**

_Out of the night that covers me,_

_Black as the pit from pole to pole,_

_I thank whatever gods may be_

_For my unconquerable soul._

_-_William Ernest Henley, _Invictus_

* * *

**Chapter One**

The Fairchild manor house sat amongst a thicket of trees, large and imposing with wide windows staring out onto the expanse of grass. It wasn't the largest country house in Idris, but it was grand all the same, carefully decorated and clearly constructed to stand the test of time, housing generations of Fairchilds. Far below the house, a small brook wound its way through the countryside, dotted with mossy rocks. This brook eventually emptied into a river which ran all the way to Alicante, the capital city of Idris.

On one unusually hot summer day, two figures could be seen splashing through the cool water. One was a young girl, small for her age with dark red hair falling in tangles down her back. She held her long curls back with one hand, reaching out with the other to run it through the water.

"Lucian," she whined, giving the name about four extra syllables. "I can't catch any!"

"That's 'cause you're not fast enough," the second figure replied with a surprisingly gentle tone. He appeared to be roughly the same age as the girl and only an inch or so taller. "Here, watch this."

The boy, Lucian, watched the surface of the water with an intense concentration. He seemed to be waiting for something. Then, bending forward so quickly it was as if he'd been shoved, he plunged his arm into the brook, emerging with something clasped tightly in his fist. A silver fish flopped desperately in his hand, so shiny that it seemed to be made of gossamer. He turned to the girl with a smile spreading across his face.

"See?"

The girl's eyes, the color of tree bark, widened incredulously. "I don't understand how you can _do _that!"

"It's easy, Jocelyn. Your reflexes will get better when you start training." He shrugged casually. "Some of us are just born with it, I guess."

Jocelyn let out a snort laugh that her mother would've considered highly undignified. "Yeah, _oh-kay_."

"It's true! The Graymarks are known for their fast reflexes."

"Maybe, like, five centuries ago. I stole a roll off Amatis's plate the other night at dinner and she didn't even notice."

Lucian leaned forward again, dropping the fish back into the water where it landed with a resounding splash. "What are you doing stealing my sister's food?"

"Relax, it was just a little piece of bread. It looked better than mine." Jocelyn let go of her hair so that it fell over her shoulders like a curtain as she bent into a crouch.

"Well, whatever," Lucian said in a voice that suggested he often conceded to her in these minor arguments. "Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? Maybe I'll steal some food from you to teach you a lesson."

"It'll have to wait." Jocelyn was watching a fish darting somewhere near her left ankle. "Mother wants me to come straight home tonight. She said that Daddy is going to talk to me about the Marking. And something about Alicante."

Lucian bit his lip. "What about Alicante?"

"I don't know. She just said…" She rose her voice to a comically high pitch. "_Jocelyn, don't run around with the Graymark boy until all hours of the night. We need to talk about how you'll be upholding the family name_. And then I heard her say something to Daddy about the Alicante Institute."

Looking even more worried now, Lucian asked, "Why doesn't your mother like me?"

"When did I ever say she didn't like you?"

"I mean, the fact that she doesn't even know my name kind of makes me think…"

"She knows your name. Don't be stupid. She just-" In a vain attempt to grab the silver fish, Jocelyn slipped on a mossy rock that had been hidden from her view, splashing to her knees. "By the Angel, this water's cold. Anyway, she doesn't remember anybody's name. It's a miracle she even knows who I am."

Lucian sighed, slightly mollified. "Okay, okay."

There was a pause as Jocelyn crouched in the water, letting it rush around her ankles as she studied its rippling surface. When she finally spoke, her voice was distinctly softer, more vulnerable.

"Do you ever wonder what it's going to be like, getting Marked?"

"Well…" Lucian frowned. "Yeah. Everybody does, I guess. But you know Amatis said it's not that bad. It hurts a little, that's all."

"But what if something goes wrong?"

"What would go wrong?"

"Maybe… maybe I won't be strong enough to do it. Maybe I won't be tough enough." She began talking faster, gaining momentum. "Daddy would be so mad, I know he always really wanted a son, can you imagine if I couldn't-"

"Jocelyn!" Lucian seemed to be biting back a laugh. "Calm down, okay? You know you're going to be fine. If anybody should be worrying about getting their first Marks, it's me."

Jocelyn straightened up, brushing mud off her knees. "Lucian…"

"You know it's true." He shrugged. "Maybe I have faster reflexes, but look at your family. Shadowhunting is in your blood."

"It's in yours too!"

"Yes, but not like you. Look at the family you come from, all the things they've done… I've heard your father talk about it enough. You're related to Henry Branwell, and he invented like, everything the Nephilim use nowadays. And his wife started running the London Institute when she wasn't much older than you are! You'll do all kinds of great things too, Jocelyn. You know it."

She smiled halfheartedly.

"D'you… d'you feel any better?" Lucian finished, focusing on the water rushing around the rocks at his feet.

"Yes." She paused, pushing her hair off her shoulders. "Honestly, I wouldn't even be able to go to Alicante without you. You know that, right?"

He smiled somewhat sadly. "Well, hey. What are best friends for?"

Jocelyn grinned in return, leaning over the water once more. "I need to get back to the house. But first…"

She plunged her hand downwards, breaking the glassy surface, triumphantly closing her slim fingers around one silver fish. Immediately, she thrust it upwards. It slipped out of her fingers within seconds, but her smile was so wide that Lucian couldn't help but grin in return.

* * *

Jocelyn sat in her bedroom, anxiously kicking her heels against the wooden bed frame. She was probably scuffing the wood with her low buckled boots, but she didn't really care; it wasn't like she was going to be living here much longer anyway.

She cast a glance around the room with such a sentimental expression on her face that she would have been mortified had anyone witnessed it. This was where she'd grown up, the only home she'd ever known. The manor house itself was beautiful – all wood and gold and not quite nearly as cold and isolating as some of the other Nephilim family manors she had visited.

But her room in particular was incredible. Someone in the family – it was either her great-grandfather or great-great-grandfather, she had trouble keeping them all straight – had designed an ornate window in the ceiling to function as a skylight. Faint constellations were etched across the glass in _adamas_, the material which also endowed seraph blades with their angelic power. It served as a form of protection for the entire room. As a young child, Jocelyn had asked her father why they didn't cover the whole house in _adamas_. Granville had laughed uproariously, patting her on the head. "Darling, we'd spend so much money that we wouldn't even have a house to live in!" Apparently just the window alone had cost untold sums of money. Jocelyn loved it, the special quality of her very own bedroom. She never would've admitted it, but she liked the protection. It was nice to feel safe in your own little corner of the world.

The door swung open, squeaking a bit on its hinges, and Granville Fairchild strode through. He was an enormous man with a pleasant disposition, walking with a prideful gait which was never misconstrued as cocky. No one in the countryside of Idris feared Granville like they feared Cyril Morgenstern or Andrew Lightwood, whose demeanors showed that they were well aware of the power and riches their family had accrued over centuries. He was a kind man, and much of his time and energy was spent upon making his only daughter feel happy and cared for. Most Nephilim considered this kind of duty second to ensuring their children knew how to fight. Even at only twelve, Jocelyn knew she was lucky.

"Good evening, sweetheart," Granville said, his voice booming to the point where it seemed like it was filling the entire room.

"Hi Daddy." Jocelyn fiddled with the ends of her long hair; it had been months since it had been cut properly, but she knew her father wouldn't comment on it or even notice.

Granville strode across the room in just a few giant steps, arranging himself carefully on a small lacy armchair beside Jocelyn's bed. When Jocelyn had been a little girl, he had sat in that very same place, reading her stories. They were usually from the Shadowhunter's Codex, a lesson in disguise, but he made everything from descriptions of the Silent Brothers to the tale of Jonathan Shadowhunter sound absolutely fascinating. _One day, we'll read about you in here_, he always said, thumping the Codex in pride.

"How are you feeling about your birthday?"

Jocelyn pulled her legs up onto the bed, leaning her elbows on her knees. "I don't know. I'm sort of nervous."

"Perfectly natural," Granville said with a wave of his hand. "Everything will go stunningly well, my darling. There's no need to worry your pretty little head."

"Amatis said it hurts, though."

"Well, with all due respect to Miss Graymark, Nephilim who experience pain during their first Marking are typically those of weaker bloodlines, those who are less skilled. I can assure you that no one in the Fairchild line has ever had a difficult time with their Marking."

Instead of calming Jocelyn's anxieties, this only made her stomach churn furiously. No one in the family had ever felt pain during the Marking Ceremony? If she felt a twinge, she would be the first one. What if she couldn't hide it and some uncomfortable expression showed on her face?

Granville smiled kindly, sensing her fear. "Shall we walk through what will happen at the Marking? Will that ease your mind a bit?"

"No, Daddy, it's fine. I know." She gestured to the leather-bound notebook lying open beside her on the bed. Glancing down, she frowned at the scribbled print that criss-crossed the page. She wasn't known for her good penmanship, and hoped her father wouldn't comment on it now. "I've been studying."

"Yes, you have!" Granville cried delightedly, leaning forward to examine the notebook. "You've learnt it all by heart, I assume?"

"Oh yes, Daddy. I know everything I'm supposed to say." She couldn't help but puff up her chest in pride.

"Well, then I don't see any need to continue poring over your notes, however diligent and… artistic they appear to be," he said with a wink. He gently closed the notebook and reached out to tousle his daughter's unruly hair. "It's important to be well-rested for your first Marking."

"All right." Jocelyn swallowed back the lump in her throat, hopping off her bed and folding down the comforter. "I'll get ready for bed then."

"Goodnight, darling." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "My brave little girl. I can't wait to see the kind of Shadowhunter you grow up to be."

After changing into her nightgown, Jocelyn sat on her windowseat for what felt like hours, staring out into the darkness of Brocelind Plain. The Graymark manor was about a mile away, but even in the darkest nights she could make out its lights. Staring through the trees, she wondered if Lucian was out there, lying awake and worrying too.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight streamed through the long Palladian windows of the Fairchild Manor foyer, warming the dust that drifted through the air. Jocelyn watched these floating specks through scrutinizing eyes. She was grateful to have something to concentrate on after being poked and prodded all morning. Convinced that the seamstress had missed something, Jocelyn's mother had spent what had felt like hours adjusting the hem of her daughter's skirt with rows of silver pins. Luckily, Adele Fairchild knew what she was doing with a needle, or Jocelyn had a feeling she would resemble a sloppily-sewn ragdoll.

The dress was deep red, the customary color for young Shadowhunters to wear during their Marking ceremony. She recalled telling Lucian when they were younger that the color was meant to remind them of the demon battles they would fight in the coming years, the blood that would spill – she had said this mainly to see his face turn stark white, but considering it now, it didn't seem funny at all.

"You look beautiful, my darling!" Granville bustled into the room, his hat clenched in one hand excitedly. He was beaming with pride. "Stunning! Honestly, sometimes it's hard to believe that you're really my daughter."

Jocelyn rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

"Daddy, I don't think there's any question that I'm your daughter," she said, yanking on a strand of her brilliantly red hair.

He chuckled heartily. "The mark of the Fairchilds! Never be embarrassed by that hair, sweetheart."

"Embarrassed?" Jocelyn crinkled her nose in confusion. "I'm not embarrassed."

"No, why should you be? All the girls in Alicante will be so jealous of your beauty and grace - the same way they were jealous of your mother," he added as Adele swept into the room. Jocelyn gave an automatic jolt as though she expected the woman to poke at her with a needle and thread again.

In Jocelyn's opinion, she could not look more different from her mother. Adele Fairchild was tall and willowy with warm brown hair that tumbled past her shoulders in elegant curls. In the summers, it lightened to an almost blonde color of which Jocelyn was intensely envious. She could imagine her mother at the Alicante Institute perfectly, blazing through her lessons with the grace of a Shadowhunter ten years her senior. While Jocelyn's father exuded an air of friendliness and optimism which drew people to him like a magnet, her mother's cold confidence caused nothing short of awe. Jocelyn had long ago grown accustomed to the stares she attracted when they went out in public, but that didn't mean she liked it.

"Mother," Jocelyn said, taking in Adele's elaborate mauve and ivory gown. "Do you have to dress like that?"

Granville chuckled again, shaking his head and moving to open up the great wooden front door for their driver, who had just arrived. Jocelyn knew he was used to these scuffles between his wife and daughter.

Smiling vaguely, Adele looked down at her daughter.

"You're my only child, Jocelyn. My little girl. This is a momentous occasion, wouldn't you agree?"

There was no trace of anger in her voice like the kind she had heard in Elisabeth Graymark's chastisements of Lucian and Amatis. Sometimes Jocelyn longed for that kind of normalcy: a parent who would send you to your room if you made a smart remark. But Adele seemed to value that characteristic in her daughter, and so she only encouraged it, enraging Jocelyn further.

"I just don't see why you have to be so _fancy_," Jocelyn muttered, realizing the battle was lost as her mother herded her toward the door.

"Be careful not to trip over your skirt when you get into the carriage," Adele said simply, one hand firmly fixed to her daughter's back.

Jocelyn's father had taken her to visit the Hall of Accords for the first time when she was quite young, no more than six. He had finally consented to Jocelyn's frequent pleas to be brought along on his trips to Alicante. Growing up as an only child in an enormous manor house in the country, Jocelyn had been a bit starved for attention and playmates; the closest manor was, of course, the Graymark family's, and Jocelyn had only recently been permitted to spend time with their son and daughter.

Over the years, Adele had arranged for a number of suitable playmates to be brought to Fairchild Manor, usually shuttled over by their family driver. While these little girls were from well-to-do Nephilim families, Jocelyn either reduced them to tears within minutes or started screaming matches when they wouldn't go along with the game she wanted to play. Adele finally had no choice but to take the calls of Elisabeth Graymark, who had long been encouraging her daughter Amatis to play with Jocelyn. It was shortly after Jocelyn's fifth birthday that eight-year-old Amatis had arrived at the front gate of Fairchild manor, hand-in-hand with her little brother. Both children were somewhat shabbily dressed and Amatis's hair looked like it hadn't been brushed before it had been crammed into braids.

A thunderstorm had broken out during that first playdate, sending all three children racing back inside, dripping with rainwater and panting heavily. Lucian was on the verge of tears as the flames in the sconces illuminating the hallway flickered, and had made to reach for his sister's hand, but Jocelyn had found it first, wrapping her fingers tightly around his. Amatis had done a double take at this act of compassion from the fiery little girl who had spent the past hour ordering them around the backyard, picking up sticks to build models of the demon towers of Alicante. Without a word, Jocelyn had guided him into the sitting room and they'd spent the rest of the rainy afternoon stacking cushions into buildings instead.

"This is Accords Hall," Jocelyn had informed them both, enunciating perfectly as she gestured at a stack of velvet cushions that reached a foot above her head.

"What happens there?" Lucian asked, scrambling to see better, as if the cushions were going to shift and reform into an actual building.

"It's where the Accords happened in 1857. The Shadowhunters decided that they wanted to be friends with the Downworlders, and nobody ever fighted again." She glanced over to Amatis for confirmation. "Right?"

"Fought, not fighted," Amatis corrected shyly.

Jocelyn gave the older girl an appraising look for a moment, and then nodded curtly. "But the rest is right." It wasn't a question.

"I guess so." Amatis had shrugged.

"Accords Hall is where we get Marked," Jocelyn continued, turning to face Lucian. She picked up a stick from the carpet which they had been using as a toy stele and grabbed Lucian's arm with her other hand, turning it over so that the bare inside of his wrist faced the ceiling. Clenching the mock stele tightly in one fist, she began tracing an invisible pattern with immense concentration. "Lucian… what's your middle name?"

"Abraham," he said in a voice so soft it was almost undetectable.

"Lucian Abraham Graymark, you are now a Shadowhunter."

Jocelyn finally saw Accords Hall for the first time shortly after her sixth birthday. Lucian was tagging along at her insistence, but Granville hadn't minded; he liked the boy, didn't mind his scruffy appearance. When they'd rounded the corner on Princewater Street and the tall, columned building had come into view glimmering like a second sun, Jocelyn had actually grabbed Lucian's hand in shock. Her lips parted in wonder as she stared up at the building she'd been hearing about her entire life.

"This is it, children!" Granville had exclaimed importantly, gesturing toward the Hall as if they could really miss it. "Every important moment of your life will happen here. Your Marking ceremony, the annual Alicante Ball, your wedding-"

"Daddy!" Jocelyn laughed as if she found the idea ridiculous. "I'm not going to get _married_!"

"You're not?" he asked in mock surprise, looking down at his daughter who still clasped Lucian's hand with a viselike grip. Lucian was still staring up at the building with an unreadable expression upon his face, appearing to not even hear the conversation happening around him.

"I just want to be a Shadowhunter. Not somebody's _wife_." Jocelyn made a face of disgust, scrunching her nose and sticking out her tongue.

Granville had laughed, reaching out to smooth down her hair, the exact same color as his own. "That's a good goal, my darling. An excellent goal."


	3. Chapter 3

**So this took awhile - thanks for being patient! Everything was crazy with the holidays, but I'm going to push myself to update more consistently. A few things here: details of the Marking ceremony (specifically, some of Brother Enoch's lines) are taken directly from CLOCKWORK PRINCESS, so I have no ownership there. I assume that Shadowhunters, traditionalists as they are, don't often revise those lines! Also, keep an eye out for a few cameos... there are a handful of characters who you already know, and they will be quite important when Jocelyn finally gets to the Alicante Institute.**

**Chapter Three**

Standing in front of Accords Hall at twelve years old, Jocelyn thought the building looked a lot bigger than it had when she was a child. Wasn't the opposite usually true? Shouldn't it have shrunken over time, looming large only in her memories?

"Ah, here's the Graymark carriage," Granville said happily, squinting into the summer sun.

"Lovely." Adele busied herself by adjusting the contents of her silk and pearl handbag, clearly not caring to look at the carriage rattling up the street behind them. Jocelyn, on the other hand, craned her neck excitedly, anxious to have her best friend by her side.

In other countries, Jocelyn had learned, it was common for young Shadowhunters to journey to the nearest Institute and receive their first Marking there. Things were a bit different in Idris, since it was the Shadowhunter home country. There were no Institutes in the countryside – only a small one located in Alicante, functioning as both a refuge for travelling Shadowhunters and the school in which they could be trained upon reaching age twelve. Most Idris families preferred to train and tutor their children privately at home until their later teen years, when it was deemed acceptable for them to be shipped off to the city to continue their studies.

Jocelyn knew she wouldn't move to Alicante until the year she turned sixteen – her mother needed to keep her around to criticize her every move. The idea of living in Alicante seemed thrilling in theory, but staring up at Accords Hall, Jocelyn couldn't help but feel anxious. The Hall was considered a sacred place for ceremonies and rituals to occur, and since Idris was home to so many ancient and well-known Shadowhunting families, Jocelyn's father had warned her that there was likely to be an audience anticipating her arrival.

The Graymark carriage rattled along the cobblestone streets, coming to a halt about fifteen feet away from Jocelyn. She raised one hand to shield her eyes against the sun. Lucian's pale and frightened face stared out through the dingy glass window. His eyes locked onto hers immediately, and she grinned with a faux confidence. It did the trick: Lucian seemed to visibly relax.

Jacob Graymark, who drove the family's own carriage, climbed down to open the door for everyone. Lucian hopped out first, already making a beeline for Jocelyn. Amatis followed in his wake, gathering up the deep red skirts of her dress so that she wouldn't trip.

Adele made a soft but disdainful noise. Amatis's dress was the same one she'd worn two years earlier at her own Marking, Jocelyn realized with a sudden rush of secondhand embarrassment. It was a bit too short around the ankles. Their mother had never been a talented seamstress like Adele. As Amatis and Lucian reached the front of Accords Hall where the Fairchilds stood, Jocelyn absorbed the look of pride and excitement on Amatis's face and felt her own embarrassment morph into a simmering anger. Couldn't Adele at least offer to make dresses for Amatis every once in awhile? If you had a gift, weren't you obligated to share it with those less fortunate?

"Hello, Jocelyn," Amatis said happily. She wrapped the younger girl in a tight hug. "I'm so excited for you!"

"Thank you, Amatis." Jocelyn returned the smile while reaching out to grab the collar of Lucian's button-down shirt and yank him closer to her. Elisabeth Graymark, who had appeared out of the carriage to stand behind her son and daughter, smiled down at the pair.

"You look very beautiful, Miss Jocelyn," Elisabeth said kindly, bending down a bit so that they could see eye to eye. She had the same coloring as both of her children: chestnut brown hair which was pulled back into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck and wide, dancing blue eyes. In every way, Lucian's mother was the opposite of Jocelyn's. While Jocelyn would never have admitted it out loud, she preferred the company of Elisabeth. She was much more caring, much more… motherly. Amatis and Lucian were lucky to have her, Jocelyn thought with a familiar twinge of jealousy. It was the same twinge she experienced every time she had dinner at the Graymark's and Elisabeth steered the conversation to focus on whatever they, the children, had to say.

"Thank you," Jocelyn said again, weaving her arm through Lucian's as if he were going to escort her to a ball.

"Did you make her dress, Adele?" Elisabeth asked, straightening up and turning her head to look at Jocelyn's mother. There was not a trace of annoyance or even envy in her voice.

"I did, yes," Adele said proudly. "The finest velvet from the Ravendale Market over on High Street. I made a special trip last month-"

As the conversation veered into matters about which Jocelyn couldn't care less, she turned her attention to her two friends.

"Okay, Amatis," she whispered intensely. "What's going to happen?"

Amatis gave her an indulgent smile. "I've told you probably a hundred times, Jocelyn. I'm not going to say anything different this time. _And _you've read the Codex back to front, I know you have."

"Tell us again, though," Lucian piped up. His glasses were sliding down his nose. Automatically, Jocelyn reached over and shoved them back up.

"You'll walk into the Hall, then you'll get called up one by one, then a Silent Brother will come out and Mark you – probably Brother Enoch, he did mine - you'll be presented to all of Nephilim society, you'll be given books to study, and you'll get assigned to your tutor," Amatis recited. "But the whole tutor thing isn't going to be a surprise for you two."

Jocelyn blinked, shocked. "Your mother is going to be my tutor too?"

"I mean, I guess so." Amatis shrugged. "I don't think they would send somebody else out there when we live so close together."

Jocelyn felt a soaring happiness inside her chest. Elisabeth as her tutor! She had been desperately envious of Amatis these past two years, who had spend every Monday through Friday under the tutelage of her mother. The two of them practiced different battle stances and moves in the courtyard behind their house, and on rainy days sat inside the Graymark library working on languages. Jocelyn thought Amatis was already getting quite good at Latin. She loved Fairchild Manor, but spending her days with Amatis and Lucian learning how to be a Shadowhunter seemed like paradise.

"Jocelyn!" Adele called suddenly, harshly. Her voice was clipped in the way it always seemed to be in public. "Come here, please. It's time to enter the Hall."

Jocelyn sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically for Amatis's benefit, who giggled behind her hand. Then Jocelyn surged forward, yanking Lucian along by the hand. Let her parents try to tear them apart. It was the most important day of her young life and she should have a say in who she got to walk with.

Inside the great marble hall, Jocelyn and Lucian were immediately whisked away from their parents. Jocelyn caught a glimpse of the crowd, a blur of color and movement gathered in chairs on either side of the enormous Hall. Heart pounding desperately, Jocelyn released Lucian's hand, wiping her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress. Keeping Lucian close in front of their families was one thing, but to walk into the Hall showing such affection and friendship would be perceived as weakness. Fairchilds were not weak. Lucian gave her a quick, desperate look, and she had the involuntary thought that maybe he didn't care as much about looking weak. She pushed the thought away immediately; he was her Lucian, the closest thing she had to a brother, her best friend in the whole world. The strongest person she knew. Of course he wasn't weak.

The woman who had grabbed the two of them was someone Jocelyn knew only from photographs. She was not much taller than Jocelyn herself, but was quite beautiful, dark hair wrapped into a tight knot at the top of her head. She wore elegant, deep red robes that would've indicated her identity even if Jocelyn had not been so well prepared.

"Inquisitor Nightwell," she said, inclining her head in a near-perfect imitation of her mother. The woman blinked, taken aback.

"I… yes, dear. Hello," she said, not unkindly. "Come with me, both of you… there are only two others here for their ceremonies as well. It should not take long."

The Inquisitor released her hold on Jocelyn and Lucian, but turned back several times to make sure they were still following her as she lead them down a steep spiral staircase. Sconces lit the wall on either side. Jocelyn sensed Lucian's anxiety; he had never had a great love of the dark, or enclosed spaces, for that matter. Not wanting to risk anything more obvious, she nudged her wrist against his. He looked over immediately, gray eyes dark in the flickering light. She made a face quickly, crossing her eyes, and a smile spread across his face before he could stop himself. He looked away quickly, pressing a hand to his mouth to prevent any noise from escaping.

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, Jocelyn immediately noticed the two other young Shadowhunters to which the Inquisitor must have been referring. It was a boy and a girl, but unlike she and Lucian, they showed no signs of friendship. They both stood in the empty marble room even though there were several old-fashioned velvet couches placed against the walls, and there was a good ten feet of space between them. The girl stood with perfect posture, hands clasped gently in front of her body, with pale brown hair hanging almost to her waist. She wasn't smiling, but her warm hazel eyes indicated she would probably like to. Jocelyn thought she seemed somewhat familiar; most likely she had been forced to attend a play date at Fairchild Manor when they were barely out of infancy.

The boy would have looked nervous under any circumstance, but compared to the girl's sense of calm, he looked on the verge of a breakdown. He was quite small and thin – Jocelyn wondered if he was actually twelve. He would _have _to be, right? Nephilim under age twelve couldn't bear the strain of Marks. He wore a similar red button-down shirt to Lucian's, but it almost looked as though he was drowning in it.

"You four will continue to wait here," the Inquisitor said. She pulled a stele from her pocket, and when the sleeves of her robe slid back, Jocelyn noted the black Marks winding up her forearms with a small thrill of excitement. "When the Silent Brothers are ready for the ceremonies to begin, I will call you up one by one. Madeleine, you will be first."

The girl gave a polite smile and nod. "Yes, ma'am."

Without another word, the Inquisitor crossed the room and climbed an identical staircase back up to the main Hall. Jocelyn surveyed the room, letting her eyes linger critically on the small boy, who had now inched closer to the corner and further from the rest of them.

"I'm Jocelyn Fairchild," she said to the girl – Madeleine – extending a hand.

"Madeleine Bellefleur." She gave another smile and nod, clasping Jocelyn's hand firmly. "I think our parents know each other."

"Yes, I think so." The Bellefleurs… Jocelyn cast her mind around, landing finally on an image of a tall and elegant man and woman. The woman had a face like Madeline's; not exactly pretty, but not entirely unappealing either. "This is my best friend, Lucian."

Lucian smiled shakily, stepping forward to shake Madeline's hand.

"Who's _that_?" Jocelyn asked, not bothering to lower the tone of her voice. She jerked her head in the direction of the small boy in the corner.

Madeleine frowned slightly at Jocelyn's tone, but in a flash her facial features smoothed out again into an expression of calm nonchalance. "He said his name is Roger Starkweather."

To Jocelyn's dismay, Madeleine actually turned to face the boy, tucking a lock of her perfectly straight hair behind one ear. "Roger," she said kindly. "Why don't you come over here and meet Jocelyn and Lucian? We'll all be together at school here in Alicante eventually, I assume."

The boy – Roger - shot Jocelyn a look of pure terror, then slowly closed the gap between them. Even as he approached, he didn't extend a hand, merely nodding in their general direction. Lucian smiled at Jocelyn, the corners of his eyes crinkling. She knew that he was waiting for her to lash out and scream at this boy to stand up straight and not be afraid, that fear was unbecoming on a Shadowhunter. She wouldn't do it, she realized as she watched Madeleine pat Roger gently on the back. Now was not the time to lose control.

"Madeleine Bellefleur!" The Inquisitor's voice rang out through the small stone chamber. They all jumped, Roger in particular. Madeleine breathed in deeply, then let it out so heavily that her shoulders sagged.

"Well, I guess this is it. Good luck to all of you."

Jocelyn thought she detected a wavering note in Madeline's voice and narrowed her eyes triumphantly. Maybe Miss Perfect wasn't so fearless after all. Madeleine gave a tight lipped smile to the other three, then turned and marched up the staircase.

"Good luck," Lucian offered as she retreated. Jocelyn shot him a fierce look and jabbed him in the ribs.

"_Ouch! _What's the matter with you?"

"That little princess doesn't need to be wished luck."

Lucian was smirking now. He knew as well as any young Shadowhunter that 'princess' was a terrible insult to be hurled at a Nephilim girl; it was a mundane word used to imply weakness, pettiness. There were no princesses in the Shadow World.

"Wow, she really shook you up, huh?"

"She didn't do anything to me. She's irrelevant."

"Suit yourself." He shrugged, still smiling. "But I think it could be good for you to have a friend like her. Maybe she could teach you how to relax when the situation warrants it."

Jocelyn crossed her arms haughtily. "I'm perfectly capable of relaxing whenever I need to."

"Oh, I know," Lucian said. He turned to Roger. "See, look how relaxed she looks right now."

Roger chuckled despite himself, moving slightly closer to Lucian as Jocelyn dropped her arms to her sides in exasperation. She walked over to the staircase, hoping to hear any sounds from above. Maybe Madeleine would start screaming, she thought with a sick fascination. Let that prove to Lucian how _relaxed _she was. Boys were so stupid, she thought to herself bitterly. He probably just thought she was pretty.

Suddenly, as though she was being jolted out of a daydream, Jocelyn heard the rumble of voices from above and then a smattering of applause. It sounded as though heavy footsteps were scraping along the stone ceiling.

"She's done," she said somewhat hysterically, whirling around. "I didn't even hear her – I thought for sure she would-"

"See?" Lucian said to Roger, gesturing at her, still smiling. "_Relaxed_."

Jocelyn glared at him. She took several steps across the cold stone floor, prepared to smack him, but then a voice echoed through the room –

"Jocelyn Fairchild!"

Without a second glance at her best friend or the boy by his side, she swept out of the room. He had thrown off her focus, she thought furiously. Weren't you supposed to be emotionless for your first Marking? Maybe her anger would throw off the power of the Marks! As she climbed the stairs, she tried desperately to quell her anger, but it only had the opposite effect: she became more and more irritated at Lucian for distracting her. Those games were fine when they were teasing each other at home, running around in the countryside, but this was Alicante, and these kinds of things just wouldn't—

For a moment, Jocelyn's mind went utterly blank. She had reached the top of the staircase to find herself standing in the corner of Accords Hall. The domed glass ceiling above cast a brilliant white light throughout the enormous room, making it look as though she had just stepped into Heaven itself. Dimly, she registered rows and rows of people lining the edges of the Hall. She thought she could hear buzzing as though the Hall was packed with dozens of flies. They must be whispering, she realized as she walked mechanically toward a great golden chair that had been placed in the center of the room.

She didn't think she was being presumptuous in assuming that she was the subject of the whispers – it had definitely only started when she had entered the room, possibly the moment her name had been called. She could feel the weight of a hundred eyes upon her. It was her name, she knew, as she reached the place where the Inquisitor stood flanked by two Silent Brothers. The Fairchild name was one of the most famous and revered in Nephilim history… or at least that was how her father had always explained it to her. What would happen if the Marking didn't work? She knew it was uncommon to have an unsuccessful Marking; she didn't really believe that she would be transformed into a Forsaken in front of the entire Hall, but in this moment, her stomach was churning so badly that it seemed as though anything would be possible.

The anger she'd felt toward Lucian down in the stone chamber suddenly evaporated. She was alone, here in the center of this crowded room, about to embark on this dangerous journey. Slowly and hopefully unobtrusively, she clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides, wishing privately that she could hold his hand now. She couldn't do that anymore, she realized, as the Inquisitor began addressing the crowd, reading from a scroll held in front of her on an immense dais. Starting today, she was Nephilim, an official Shadowhunter-in-training – no longer simply the daughter of great demon-hunters, but a demon hunter herself. What was she going to do, march into battle holding her best friend's hand?

"Jocelyn, please be seated," the Inquisitor said, bellowing the words for the entire Hall to hear.

She did as she was told, resting her arms on the ornate golden armrests as though she sat upon a throne. For a moment, she felt a thrill of fear as Brother Enoch approached her, his hood throwing nearly all of his scarred face into shadow. But this fear was quickly replaced by something more potent – a kind of sadness that she had never experienced before. _Because I've never lost anything before_, she realized.

Brother Enoch extended one heavily scarred hand in which he held a stele. Jocelyn took a deep breath, tensing only slightly in the chair.

_Jocelyn Charlotte Fairchild_. Brother Enoch's voice echoed inside her mind as clearly as if he had spoken to the entire room. It was a fascinating feeling; she had never met one of the Brothers before, much less spoken to one. _You are now of age. It is time for the first of the Angel's Marks to be bestowed on you. Are you aware of the honor being done to you, and will you do all in your power to be worthy of it?_

"Yes," Jocelyn said in a loud, clear voice.

_And do you accept these Marks of the Angel, which will be upon your body forever, a reminder of all that you owe to the Angel, and of your sacred duty to the world?_

She gave a firm nod. "I do accept them."

_Then we shall begin._

It took all of Jocelyn's strength to remain still in the chair. She thought maybe her fingers fluttered for a moment against the carved armrests as Brother Enoch reached for her arm, but the second his fingers closed around her forearm, she consciously relaxed. His stele, held in the opposite hand, caught the sunlight and glimmered as he brought it forward to press against the skin of her arm. _This is it_, she thought with a dizzying rush of excitement. _No turning back._ As if she even had a choice.

Brother Enoch traced the stele gently along her arm, black lines swirling into the intricate shape she knew to be the Voyance rune. Jocelyn had a sudden flashing memory of sitting on her bedroom floor with Lucian several years ago, poring over the lengthy chapter on runes in the Codex. _It focuses your Sight_, she had told him, tracing one finger over the rune. _The first rune we'll ever get. _

She was pleased to find that it didn't hurt at all; there was a faint stinging which quickly developed into a feeling that seemed to be simultaneously hot and cold, a kind of vague burning. As Brother Enoch finished drawing, she noted that it resembled an almond-shaped eye. It felt like a physical representation of her conscience; it would stay with her for her entire life now, watching over her, in a way. She couldn't wait to see how her Sight would change, how it would become easier to notice glamours.

The second rune she received was _enkeli_, the rune for angelic power. As Brother Enoch traced it across her upper arm, she glanced up and found her parents sitting near the front. Granville, as she had imagined, wore an expression of utter joy, his eyes shining with tears. But it was her mother who she was eager to see. Jocelyn's eyes locked upon hers. Her expression was neutral, save for a small twitching of her lips as though she wanted to smile but was unsure how that would appear.

Jocelyn scanned the crowd for the Graymarks. They weren't difficult to find; the two families appeared to have had difficulty finding seats together, or maybe Adele had simply extricated herself from Lucian's parents and sister, not deeming them appropriate to be seen with in public. The Graymarks had opted to sit closer to the Hall's entrance, and all three of them were watching her with nothing less than pure, unadulterated excitement. There was Elisabeth, watching Jocelyn intensely as if she could control her movements via telepathy, and her husband, Lucian's father Jacob, by her side and beaming proudly as if she were his own daughter. Amatis was at the edge of her seat, grinning; when Jocelyn met her eyes, she nodded emphatically as though urging her to go on.

_Jocelyn Fairchild_, Brother Enoch's voice boomed again, jolting her back to reality. _You have received the Marks of the Angel, officially inducting you into the life of the Nephilim. As a daughter of Raziel, it is now your Heavenly duty to go forth and fight in the name of mankind on the side of the Angels, upholding the words of your ancestor, Jonathan Shadowhunter. Do you agree to continue the mission given to Jonathan Shadowhunter by the Angel Raziel, protecting the world from demonkind?_

"I agree."

_Thus concludes the ceremony. Nephilim of Alicante, I present to you Jocelyn Charlotte Fairchild, Shadowhunter._

Heart pounding, Jocelyn leapt down from the chair. She wasn't sure if it was her imagination or if the crowd was applauding much louder than they had for Madeleine; she thought she even caught some cheers mixed in. Pleased with herself, she gave a little curtsy to the crowd that was at once feminine and glamorous. The crowd roared. Not even bothering to gather up her skirts – she was a Shadowhunter now, surely she would not trip – Jocelyn swept past the Silent Brothers and into Amatis's waiting arms at the edge of the crowd.

"You were _amazing_!" Amatis whispered. She looked surprisingly pretty under the glimmering sunlight, her eyes dancing with excitement.

"Thanks!" Jocelyn looked up at her with a grin. Amatis opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder.

"Your books, Miss Fairchild."

A tall girl had emerged seemingly from nowhere, wearing a simple burgundy dress cinched at the waist with a thin black belt. She had wavy brown hair falling to her shoulders and a softly pretty face. She must be an assistant to the Inquisitor_, _Jocelyn decided, taking the stack of books from the girl who was regarding Jocelyn with a strange look. It was the look, perhaps, of someone who desperately wanted to say something but couldn't decide if it mattered.

"Thank you," she said, looking down at the book on the top of the pile. _A History of the Nephilim_. She grimaced. It sounded thrilling.

"I'll take the books," Amatis said hurriedly, reaching out her arms. "You'll want to be ready for your stele – right?" She turned to face the tall girl, who smiled.

"Yes. Your stele, Miss Fairchild." The girl handed Jocelyn a thin wooden box. Her heart pounded; she couldn't bring herself to open it quite yet. She wanted to preserve the soaring joy she felt for a few more moments.

"And finally, your tutor will be…" Jocelyn held her breath as the girl glanced down at a sheet of paper in her hands. She'd forgotten about this part. "Robert Lightwood."

Jocelyn's lips parted indignantly, but Amatis gave her arm a yank, trying to pull her back to the seats. Surely the Inquisitor was about to summon Lucian for his own Marking. But Jocelyn stood her ground firmly.

"What do you mean? I thought Elisabeth Graymark would be my tutor," Jocelyn said, unable to keep the whining note out of her voice. Her mother always said it was unbecoming on a lady. "The Graymarks live right next door to me. Can't I just go there to be trained?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Fairchild," the girl said somewhat sadly. "Mr. Lightwood will have to be your tutor. I believe that, ah… your parents specifically requested him."

"That explains a lot," she muttered darkly.

"Jocelyn, come _on_, we need to go sit down," Amatis hissed. "You can complain about this later."

"Sorry – thank you," Jocelyn said hurriedly to the mysterious girl as she was herded away. The girl simply smiled and gave a slow nod of acknowledgement. She wasn't sure if she was imagining it or not, but she got a sense that the girl was wishing her luck.

People were still watching her, she noted with satisfaction as they hurried to take their seats; they were watching Amatis too, probably wondering who she was. She noticed several young Shadowhunters who looked to be just a few years older than the herself watching the pair with great envy. One girl leaned over to whisper to a group of friends, her long, glossy black hair hanging over her shoulders like a curtain.

"Can you believe I don't get to be trained with you?" Jocelyn whispered as they slid into their seats. Amatis had covered two chairs with her gray wool travelling cloak, saving them for Jocelyn and Lucian.

"It's not a big deal, Jocelyn. We'll worry about it later. You should be really proud of yourself… you did so well with your Marking!"

"Really?" Jocelyn asked with a somewhat guilty smile.

"Seriously. You didn't even flinch! Remember my ceremony? I was making all these faces, it was terrible…"

"It wasn't terrible," Jocelyn said diplomatically.

"Thanks, Joss." Amatis smiled, but Jocelyn could tell she was distracted. Her gray-blue eyes were focused on the corner where Lucian would appear momentarily.

"He'll be fine," Jocelyn said, answering her friend's unasked question. But despite her confident reassurance, she found herself chewing on her bottom lip as she watched Lucian emerge through the corner doorway. From so far away, he looked small. The sight made Jocelyn ache for the past, to be sitting in her warm and cozy living room building sofa cushion houses with Lucian and Amatis while rain pelted the picture windows. Before Lucian had gotten glasses, his eyes had appeared almost impossibly blue, wide and huge in his tiny, delicate face. He'd seemed breakable to Jocelyn. She'd loved him fiercely even then. There was no one else she wanted by her side.

For the first time in her life, she felt a rush of terror shoot through her as she realized what being a Shadowhunter truly meant for Lucian, her Lucian. She'd spent so much time picturing herself romping around the world, hunting demons in a blaze of glory, that she had never bothered to imagine what it would mean for her closest friend. Lucian, hunting demons? He could barely hold the seraph blades that his father kept in his study.

As he took his seat in the golden chair, he cast a look up at the crowd, flipping his scruffy brown hair out of his eyes. Jocelyn knew he was searching for her. Temporarily choosing to disregard her earlier decision of ceasing to be so clingy and dependent on her best friend, she raised her hand to wave down at him, grinning broadly. His eyes, wide behind his glasses, widened gratefully, his face splitting into a confident smile. In that moment, he looked more like a Shadowhunter than Jocelyn had ever seen as long as they'd known each other. She would not take her eyes off him, she decided, not even to look at Amatis. She would channel all her energy into making sure he made it through the ceremony successfully. And then their lives as Nephilim would truly begin. She would fight at his side. Maybe they would even become _parabatai_. Her soul was complete with his, and nothing would ever change that. Jocelyn blindly found Amatis's hand and squeezed it tightly. Somehow, she felt like it was going to be more difficult to watch Lucian's Marking than to endure it herself.

_Lucian Abraham Graymark_. Once again, Brother Enoch's voice resonated inside her head. She saw Lucian give a little involuntary jerk and willed him not to be afraid. He had never come face to face with a Silent Brother either. _You are now of age. It is time for the first of the Angel's Marks to be bestowed on you. Are you aware of the honor being done to you, and will you do all in your power to be worthy of it?_

"Yes," Lucian said in a voice full of false bravado. She felt a surge of affection toward him, a sudden admiration for his bravery.

_And do you accept these Marks of the Angel, which will be upon your body forever, a reminder of all that you owe to the Angel, and of your sacred duty to the world?_

"I do accept them."

_Then we shall begin._

There was a terrifying moment when Brother Enoch's stele touched Lucian's forearm where Jocelyn thought he was going to cry out; she heard his mother give a soft gasp from a few seats down. But whatever pain he had felt must have been fleeting, a brief sting as Jocelyn's had been.

"He's fine," Jocelyn breathed, mostly for her own benefit rather than Amatis's. Everything would be fine… it had to be.

But Lucian was going white now, his body trembling as he looked up again frantically to find Jocelyn's face in the crowd. His face was so pale. Jocelyn pressed her lips together tightly, nodding in what she hoped looked like encouragement. He just had to make it through without crying out… it didn't matter if he looked nervous, surely lots of people were nervous…

But as Brother Enoch completed the Angelic Rune on his upper arm and began rolling his shirt sleeve back down, Lucian gave a great gasp that seemed to echo through the room, sending a chill down Jocelyn's spine. He slumped forward in the glimmering golden chair and moved no more.


End file.
